Outside The (Ask) Box
by her-majesty-wears-jeans
Summary: Gathering all of my MSec prompt fills and drabbles from Tumblr here. All stand-alone oneshots whose themes and characters vary, I only marked the most common ones.
1. You're the bad guy

**Post ep 1x14. After the catastrophic budget hearing that almost cost the State Department their reputation and Nadine her job, she needs a drink. Unfortunately, so does the man who's responsible for the latter.**

**Prompt: "Everyone keeps telling me you're the bad guy."**  
**Ship: Mike/Nadine**

* * *

After only partially intentionally staying in the office longer than anyone else, Nadine finds herself at the same bar she just visited with Jay, Matt, and Daisy. She sips her drink slowly, but it's her pride she's nursing, sitting alone on the counter, hoping no one recognizes her from two nights ago.

"Vodka tonic."

Unfortunately, it's a voice she recognizes. She can't help turning to look at him as the bartender hands him his drink, and once he catches her eyes, Mike Barnow seats himself on a stool next to her.

"Ms. Tolliver", he greets. "Nadine, right? You mind?"

She doubts it would matter if she said she did.

"The Secretary said you'd hang around for a while", she hums, turning back to her drink. "Although I thought she meant at State."

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him smirk. "Bess is doing well enough judging by the polls, but it doesn't hurt to have me around. I think you're all safe for now, though. You don't need to fear for your job. She's not interested in destroying anyone's career, as against my advice it is."

Nadine rolls her eyes. She figured his ego would be enormous. "I can destroy careers, too. And I have. But I don't make a living out of it." He gives her a look she returns. "Your reputation precedes you. Even by Washington standards", she continues, the jab sharper than she has reason to perhaps, but he did try to get her fired.

"Huh. Everyone keeps telling me you're the bad guy", Mike says without missing a beat. He looks almost impressed.

"Funny, everyone's been saying the same about you", Nadine retorts, not bothered with what he might have heard and from where. She knows what people say about her and she mostly doesn't care. She's not surprised he's heard; she is, however, surprised he's listened.

"Seems we have common acquaintances", he quips, and she's tempted to enjoy this, their back and forth. It's been a while since she's had anyone to spar with. He seems to keep up with her easily enough. But it bugs her, what he does for a living. Most of whose careers he has ended have probably earned it – if only one Miles Pendergraff had crossed paths with him earlier – but in the process, he makes things worse for people who are trying to do good. He sweeps in, shares his _advice_, and casually walks away from the shambles. Gets paid a hell of a lot more than the people he fires, too.

"You at least would know people in right places."

Mike raises an eyebrow in scorn. "You're pretty well connected yourself. I would've fired your ass in a blink of an eye after a mess like that, but Bess..."

He shakes his head while he pauses to take a sip. Nadine bites her lower lip gently and lets her eyes wander to him. She wouldn't admit she's intrigued to hear the end of that sentence for the life of her.

"She was adamant to keep you. You must have done something right earlier to remain in her good graces after the last few days."

It's the first nice-_ish_ thing she's heard him say about anyone. Nadine hides her smirk behind the rim of her glass. She's pleased to hear the budget hearing hasn't cost her the Secretary's trust. Not that she deserves it. "The hearing was a disaster", she sighs. She should've seen it coming, and she should've stopped it from happening, budget cuts and Daisy's pleads be damned. In all honesty, she was prepared to get fired before Burke even finished his harangue. She downs the rest of her scotch. "I'm glad you managed to find a way for the Secretary to come out on top." It's as close to praise as she's willing to offer him after the stunts he's pulled.

To his credit, he doesn't linger on it even though she can practically see him swell with pride.

"Yes, well, unlike you assume, maybe I do care about someone aside from myself."

Nadine narrows her eyes. "Doubtful. You're just warming her couch till you find someone who pays better."

"Huh", he stares at her, sounding surprised. "Good to see Bess's loyalty isn't in vain."

How does he manage to make it sound like an insult? "Not to me, perhaps", she assures, chuckling silently at the story behind her statement. "You, I'm not so sure."

"Hey, sometimes it takes a bad guy to help do the right thing."

Actually- wait what did he say? Nadine cocks her head and studies him for a second. He couldn't really consider himself "a bad guy". She shouldn't care if he did, either. Why is she still talking to him? She's not going to make a habit of sitting in bars after work. Besides, if she's going to come in early the next day, like she planned to, to finish the non-urgent paperwork she's neglected in favor of sorting out the microloans program crisis, she should start heading home. Still, she can't resist scoffing, "Especially if he had it coming?"

"Oh, he did", Mike looks pleased with himself if a little irritated. "And don't play saint with me. I have a feeling that with or without me, you would've planned something to hit him with."

He's not wrong. She wouldn't have let Burke get away with the show he staged and forced them to play a part in by all but ensuring they'd be blindsided and couldn't prevent any of it. She files the half-concocted plan to destroy Burke away for later though, since it seems she's managed to get under Mike B's skin, which is a lot more fascinating. She hides her smile and levels him with a look instead, hoping he'll elaborate.

"A reputation like yours has to be based on something", he grins while waving the bartender over. "Take it from someone who knows. Rumors and exaggeration only cover about 70 percent. The first thirty is the real thing."

She arches her brow. "You know, without that 70 percent of your ego, I might be able to stand you."

She cringes internally once she realizes how _flirty_ the statement sounded. Definitely wasn't her intention.

His smirk borders on devilish. She's worried he caught it as well. "To that first thirty percent, then."

She hesitates only a little before clicking her glass against his. "To the real thing." If she's smiling, it's the glass of scotch he insisted on paying for.


	2. I'll take care of it

**Nadine and Henry have a clear understanding.**

**Prompt: "I'll take care of it" + Henry and Nadine camaraderie**

* * *

The first time Henry McCord asks for Nadine's help, she is just about to make up an urgent phone call to allow the Secretary to cut short her meeting with the Egyptian ambassador. Henry walks into her office unannounced, inquiring if he could get a minute before he steals his wife away for a lunch.

Nadine's careful not to show her confusion as he, rather awkwardly, tells her about senator Richardson from Missouri who has been quite vocal about the neckline of the dress the Secretary wore to a gala a few nights prior. It's stupid, the guy is obviously a jerk, and Henry wouldn't want to bother her but…

Nadine shakes her head. She can feel the anger radiating from underneath his rational exterior, and she more than understands his frustration. She promises to take it to Daisy and help her shut it down – shut Richardson up – before the Secretary has to witness yet another downside of social media.

The second time, Henry McCord's phone call saves her from having to pace in her office. Nadine's worried and anxiously waiting for an update on the Secretary's condition, so she's pleased when he foregoes empty cover stories and cuts to the chase, letting her know the Secretary is physically fine but upset and concerned she's provoked a war with China.

Nadine huffs. She'd handle minister Chen. Surprisingly, Henry says he assured the Secretary of that even before making the call. The problem is he wasn't able to convince her to go home; she would be on her way back to the State Department in an hour.

Nadine doesn't know what to answer to him. If rationalizing and gentle persuasion didn't work, she couldn't do much else. She was already bold enough to ask the Secretary if she was all right. Henry sighs, admitting he knew that, and thanks her nevertheless. A few moments later Nadine rounds up Mike B and Laura Vargas and helps the Secretary the only way she can: by keeping things quiet.

The third time, she's preparing to hold the fort down for the rare weekend the Secretary has decided to take off when she runs into Henry McCord by the elevators. She pauses briefly to make small talk. He still insists on first-name basis; something she finds somewhat hard to adopt but tries anyway.

She apologizes when he's interrupted by the text she receives. She frowns while reading it; a proposal they've worked on for several weeks apparently needs to be looked over a second time. Sensing something's up, Henry makes a joke about having to go home and starting the weekend alone, but Nadine hears the disappointment in his voice. It's nothing, she assures him with a smile. Nothing that would require the Secretary's immediate attention.

Henry looks so delighted Nadine doesn't dare joke about her weekend that will most probably start and end with paperwork maybe accompanied by a glass of Merlot if she's alone in the office by the time it gets dark.

They have a clear understanding. She serves at the pleasure, and he's promised to love and to cherish. It means that on any given day, Elizabeth McCord comes first.

So the next time Henry comes to Nadine, asking her to dance and then to keep an eye on the Peruvian prime minister who's maybe had too much champagne and therefore is a little too eager to get an audience with the Secretary, she gives him a reassuring nod. "I'll take care of it."

And that's what she does.


	3. I let you win

**Nadine and Mike try to play poker.**

**For the prompt "I let you win" for Mike/Nadine**

* * *

On a rare Friday night when neither one of them has had to work late, Nadine finds herself tucked snuggly against the cushions on Mike's couch, sipping red wine and playing poker.

Well, she's playing poker; Mike tries to make things "more interesting" by insisting on replacing the pieces of chocolate they've humorously used as chips with pennies, or at least on playing a round of strip poker.

"I'm definitely not going to just laze around your living room in my underwear."

"I don't recall you worrying about the dress code in my living room last week."

"Mike", she sighs, "this dress stays on." _For now._

He's quiet for a few seconds as Nadine reaches for her glass.

"Even if I dare you?" he asks then, wiggling his brow.

"You _dare_ me? What are you, twelve?" she scoffs good-naturedly.

"Certainly well-hung for a prepubescent teen. You'd know."

Nadine barely manages not to choke on her Merlot. Mike delivered the line with a straight face but now he's grinning wickedly at her reaction. Very well, two could play that game. She turns to look at him, shamelessly ogling his crotch before slowly meeting his eyes and making a point of swallowing the almost too big a mouthful of wine. Her display quickly wipes the smirk off his face.

"I believe it's your turn", she says innocently, picking up her cards from the table.

He recovers rather quickly, and for a moment they take turns laying down cards in silence. It may be the worst game of poker Nadine's played in years, what with only two players, and only one of them trying to take it seriously, but she enjoys herself more than she thought she would. She's certainly not looking to get drunk, although after two generous glasses of wine and a lunch she never had time to eat, she's finally starting to wind down after the week she's had. Mike's sitting opposite her on the floor with his legs stretched under the coffee table and his toes tickling her ankles. It's quite domestic but admittedly, quite nice.

She's too preoccupied with studying the cards on the table to realize Mike has managed to maneuver himself so that his feet reach to massage her calves. It's only after he treks up to her knee and gives the hem of her skirt a tug she turns to look at him.

"What are you doing?"

He smirks. "Nothing. What are _you_ doing?"

He continues to run his feet up and down her legs, and she can't help but smile at him. "I'm going to call", she says, snatching a piece of chocolate from the table.

"If you keep eating our chips, I'm going to have to disqualify you."

Nadine smiles mischievously, not breaking eye contact as she reaches for another piece theatrically slowly. Mike doesn't make a move to stop her until she tries to retreat, which is when he springs to action, grabbing her wrist and pulling her down to meet his lips.

He kisses her with enough force to knock the air out of her lungs, and she lets out a surprised "oomph". The position is a bit awkward so while Mike brings a hand to the nape of her neck, she leans closer to gain more control, the palm of her hand and her knees pressing against the table for balance.

He, too, is breathless when he pulls back, putting some distance between them. Nadine licks her stinging lips. "What was that for?"

Mike shrugs. "You look good."

She tries not to laugh as he leans in for a much gentler kiss, snaking his hands up her waist and down her arms, rubbing circles on the inside of her wrist with his thumb, tilting his head back and to the side to give her better access–

He must be joking.

With a swift sweep of her tongue, Nadine has captured Mike's lower lip between her teeth. She bites down, not hard enough to actually hurt him but enough to give him quite the shock.

He jerks back, mouth open to ask what got into her, but she meets his quizzical gaze with a firm stare and an arched eyebrow, and he freezes. "Seriously, Mike?" she asks in disbelief. "You start making out with me to look at my cards?"

To emphasize her point, Nadine throws her cards on the table, and Mike remembers why people are sometimes scared of her. He knows her well enough, though, to distinguish when she's truly angry and when she's just… exasperated.

He gives her a sheepish grin. "Yes. But you do look beautiful", Mike says, his confidence wearing off. He's aware his cockiness sometimes gets on her nerves. Though he enjoys messing with her from time to time, he'd never use her to his advantage. Mike hopes she knows him well enough to tell the difference. The last thing he wanted was to offend her.

He's beyond relieved when Nadine simply shakes her head and kisses him briefly. "Now, are you going to come here, or do I have to climb over the table to you?"

It takes him a few seconds to process her words. He looks up at her, recognizing the gleam in her eyes. It's one he's seen countless times; one he'll never grow tired of seeing.

Mike doesn't fight the devilish grin spreading on his face. "I'm not objecting, sweetheart, but I believe we were in the middle of something", he says, gesturing to the cards spread out on the table.

Nadine rolls her eyes with a smile. "You've already seen my hand. I fold."

His face lights up but his eyes darken. "Well in that case…" he murmurs, getting up from the floor. Much to her surprise, he actually leaps across the table, tackling her to the couch cushions in the process.

"What's gotten into you tonight?" Nadine chuckles.

Instead of an answer, she's met with his gaze, the intensity of which makes her shiver. His breath brushes against her cheeks as he brushes a wayward hair out of her face.

"You're stunning", he whispers before bringing their lips together. His tongue sweeps against her teeth languidly at first until she adjusts herself underneath him, accidentally pushing against him and causing him to moan into the kiss. He starts making his way down her neck; pressing open-mouthed kisses to her collarbones and sucking on her pulse point. Nadine hums in appreciation.

"I won, by the way."

She pauses, the corner of her mouth tugging upwards. "Only because I let you", she teases.

Mike looks almost offended. "In your dreams, woman. I won entirely on my own merits." He sits up abruptly, motioning towards the cards. "Another round? I'll prove it."

Nadine's not remotely interested in poker anymore. She has something better in mind, something that will leave them both satisfied. She rolls her hips as she tilts her head, looking him under her lashes. "Another round? I don't even recall having had my first yet."

Mike's reaction is immediate as his eyes widen with a soft gasp. He's already hard against her. "Okay, fine, whatever. You let me win."


	4. Tell me again

**Henry and Elizabeth aren't really talking, but there is one thing Henry needs to remember to tell her anyway.**

**For the prompt "Tell me again."**

* * *

It's the third time that week Henry's awake before his alarm beeps. Getting up quietly, he turns the clock off and tiptoes across the room. He's letting Elizabeth sleep, he justifies to himself with a guilty glance over his shoulder to his wife who's huddled under the blankets. He's avoiding her, whispers another part of his mind.

Henry steps into the shower and turns the water to as cold as he can stomach. He takes longer than usual, standing there to the point where the freezing water starts to feel hot to his bare skin while he listens to Elizabeth move around their room, getting ready. Only once he hears the familiar click of her heels on the stairs does he turn the water off, quickly drying himself off and throwing on some clothes.

They have been giving each other a wide berth for almost a week now, ever since Henry told her about his new assignment. Elizabeth doesn't approve of him insisting on being so involved with the asset; a fact she demonstrated at first by reasonable arguments that turned into heated shouting that eventually led to icy silence.

They haven't bothered to put up a happy front for the kids this time around as they'd see through it anyway, but Henry has read enough psychology to know that even forced smiling will inevitably boost his mood. He's using the same technique with Elizabeth, hoping it won't be too long till his feelings are once again genuine, as he politely asks about her coming day, letting their fingers brush against each other when he hands her a thermos.

Elizabeth takes it with a small smile, stroking the lid of the cup with her thumb absentmindedly as she looks up at him. "Henry…" she starts with a sigh that betrays exactly what she wants to discuss. He's not ready to have that conversation yet.

Trying to come up with a fair reason to look away, he checks his watch, surprised to see he should have left ten minutes ago.

"Not now, Elizabeth. I have to go, I'm late. Love you", he says all in one breath, rushing out the kitchen and towards the front door.

Elizabeth's voice stops him in the foyer. "Tell me again."

He turns, ready to snap at her for making him run even later than he already is, but the irritation fades away once he sees the look on her face. "Tell you what?" he asks, now simply confused.

"Tell me you love me, Henry", Elizabeth demands, looking him straight in the eye. Her voice and body language display the practiced authority she's used to upholding every day at work; Henry knows he's the only one who can detect the slightest hints of insecurity behind the façade, the tremor in her voice, the glistening in her eyes. Even worse is knowing he's to blame for them.

He steps as close to her as he can get. "I love you", he says with fervor, letting his voice come out as gruff and desperate as he feels. He's angry with her, he thinks he even has the right to be, but he's trying to recognize her right to be angry with him as well. He's not shortsighted enough to become blinded by his negative feelings, though. He may not know how to go about fixing things between them, but he knows he wants to, more than anything. He's been avoiding her in hopes of avoiding confrontation; he didn't want to risk saying something that would push her further away. It seems, however, that his absence has done just that. He suddenly feels cold.

Elizabeth nods, as if accepting his declaration. "I love you", she repeats.

Relieved, Henry debates whether or not to kiss her. She makes the decision for him, pressing her lips to his own. The kiss is light and brief, out of habit rather than passion or affection yet it's the most intimate form of physical contact they've shared in days.

The loud ringing of Elizabeth's phone startles them apart. Raising it between them, Elizabeth glances down to the device in her hand and lets out a silent huff. Russell Jackson, Henry guesses, trying to decipher the upside-down letters blinking on the screen.

"I'll see you once the world's back in order?" he asks, only half-joking.

Instead of answering him, she presses the phone to her ear and turns around to hunt down her coat. He thinks he saw the corner of her mouth tugging upwards, though, and with that, he finally slips out the door.


	5. Unapologetic

**Alison is nervous about a debate because she knows first-hand what can happen when people think a woman is "too passionate" about an issue.**

**Drabble prompt, word + character: "unapologetic " + Alison McCord**

* * *

Carefully watching the way her hair moves as she twirls in front of the mirror, Alison purses her lips in displeasure. Despite the extra effort she has put in her appearance that morning, she doesn't feel as confident as she would like. With a look at the clock, Alison is forced to deem herself tolerable for the day.

Unplugging her phone, she tosses it in her bag along with the lip-gloss she grabs from her desk, but as she reaches for the debate notes, she pauses, her hand hovering above the two small stacks of paper.

She stayed up till midnight to write her notes for the debate; partly because she wanted to be thorough, but she would've been finished by ten already if she hadn't decided to do a second set of notes.

The topic is transferring national factories overseas to third world countries – sweatshops, grimaced Stevie when Alison talked about it the past week. Sharing her sister's disgust, Alison is happy she'll be against, but she's not happy to have to go against Noah Mercer. He's smart and quick and expressive, probably takes after his lawyer dad, and though Alison is pretty sure he's compassionate enough to actually agree with her on the fact that the "lenient" labor laws are wrong, he can definitely argue his assigned side of the case.

Alison's not bad herself, she likes to think. She's prepared well, she knows what she's talking about, and she's passionate about the topic. Ironically, that's kind of the problem. She realized it the previous night when she was rehearsing in front of the mirror; she accidentally spat on it. Completely randomly and by coincidence (she's refined enough not to typically do things like that, thank you very much), and though she knew it didn't really mean anything, at the moment, it gave her pause.

She wants to make herself heard, but she can't come across as a fanatic. She doesn't want to come on too strong. She's seen it in media and heard it firsthand from her mom; no one will listen to her if they decide she's too emotional.

Her mom is an ex-CIA academic turned diplomat, and her dad's an ethics professor; Alison has been taught to be polite and agreeable, to listen to all sides of the argument. Sometimes she worries if she's taken the advice to heart a little too well. She'll never win the debate against Noah Mercer of all people if she has to spend even a fraction of focus on filtering herself.

With a sigh and a frown she tries to mask, she packs the less aggressive version of her notes and trudges to the kitchen for breakfast.

"Hey, Noodle."

Alison's saved from faking a smile for her mom by a phone ringing. Her mom ahs, picks her blackberry up and takes a deep breath before answering it, dropping a kiss on Alison's head as she breezes past her and out the door.

"What was that about?" Jason asks, hopping down the stairs and making a beeline for the cereal.

Stevie shrugs, smirking. "Mom gave a bit of a dressing down to some foreign diplomat for being a jerk, and Russell Jackson had a fit."

Jason looks like he's about to say something, but their dad cuts in with a suppressed laugh and a stern look to Stevie, effectively preventing Jason from voicing his surely-less-than-gracious comment. As their dad struggles to explain the situation a little more diplomatically, Alison tunes the rest of her family out and eyes the contents of the fridge.

It's not the plentiful breakfast choices that have her brain whirring, though.

Pretty much her whole life, Alison has heard how she was the politest child anyone had ever met. She said please and thank you, rarely got into trouble and those times, usually apologized on her own accord. It earned her praise from teachers and the parents of her friends, so as she grew up, it became almost like a habit. She didn't even notice, but soon she was apologizing for everything, taking the blame for things that weren't her fault.

It was Stevie who made her realize she'd crossed the line between politeness and mousiness.

Though it made her stomach turn at the time, Alison now thinks back to the first time a boy asked her out with humor. Daryl sat next to her in English, and he was shy but sort of cute. So, even though she didn't necessarily want to go to the movies with him, she went anyway, because she wanted to say no to him less. The date was fine, but she still went to Stevie afterwards, to ask how to answer if Daryl asked her out again. She had been planning to say sorry, but no. Stevie told her to say no, thanks.

Alison doubts Stevie has ever felt the need to please anyone. On the contrary, there have been moments that have made Alison wonder if Stevie had done everything she could have to purposefully _displease_ their parents. As cliché or conditioned as it is, she still looks up to her big sister, so even though Alison might have rolled her eyes for Stevie's excessively rebellious and outlandish antics once or twice, secretly she admires her for doing exactly what feels right to her.

Their mom is the same, unconventional to a fault. Russell Jackson isn't the only one who has had things to say about the out-of-the-box solutions she's come up with to international crises. They've worked often enough though, to his horror. Alison doesn't always understand why it displeases people. Obviously, there's a lot she can't know about her mom's work, but she knows her mom wouldn't take the kinds of risks she takes lightly, not if she didn't believe it was the best, or the only, way to help. And given her position, she can't afford to wait for or to rely on anyone else's approval. Henry let it slip once that her defense against the charges from the Marsh's investigation was basically, "You're welcome."

Alison wants to be like that, too.

"Hey Ali, you still okay to give me a ride to school?"

Startled out of her musings, Alison turns to find Jason hasn't even looked up from his cereal. Putting her dishes to the washer, she rolls her eyes, but she's smiling when she tells him they're leaving in five – she's just going to go grab her notes first.


	6. Handholding

**The case with Lara Cramer cut Nadine deeper than Mike realized.**

**Set sometimes after ep 3x18.**

* * *

**_"Holding hands is a promise to one another that, for just a moment, the two of you don't have to face the world alone."_**

Mike's life has suddenly become very quiet. Not in the professional sense – he's currently couch-sitting for a senator from New Jersey, and his cabinet is a mess if Mike has ever seen one. None of the people that have been let go because of him have been shy to express their opinions about it. He feels like his ears are still ringing when he gets home.

His home is quiet. The kind of unsettling quiet that would be threatening in a scary movie. The kind of overpowering quiet that has him taking off his shoes already in the foyer and tiptoeing further into his apartment, hoping he'll find his girlfriend curled up on the couch in the living room.

Nadine's rarely quiet. She's not afraid to raise her voice at work when people need to be put in their places. She doesn't stay silent on topics that she feels need to be discussed. She doesn't hesitate to ask for things she needs, be it at the office or in the bedroom. She hums while doing chores or getting ready in the morning. She's vocal in practically every aspect of her life, and Mike loves that. It takes a lot to render her speechless, but he's learned a couple of ways how to, and he loves that, too.

Over the past week, though, Nadine's barely spoken to him. She doesn't initiate conversation, and when he tries to do so, she answers with short sentences; not clipped like she's mad, nor vague like she's concentrating on something, although the latter is not too far off. She's not fully present, but it doesn't seem her mind is clearly on anything either.

In practically any other case, Mike would be raking his head for where he's screwed up, but he knows Nadine's not giving him the silent treatment on purpose. For once, he's not at fault. Knowing the real reason, he almost wishes he were, though. He doesn't know the details, outside of what Bess and Nadine have shared, which isn't much, but he knows it's about Kyrgyz girls and an American reporter. The things he's heard are gruesome and heartbreaking for sure; still, he doesn't know what about their deaths specifically troubles Nadine so much. It's terrible and unfair, but it's… the way of the world. Their world. It's not something she should be surprised by anymore. He's surprised she's still processing.

Mike doesn't understand, perhaps, since she won't elaborate, but he's glad Nadine has still been spending time at his place instead of isolating herself completely. That way when she comes home late one night, unwilling to meet his eyes while foregoing dinner in favor of scotch, he can try to help. He can't do much and none of it seems to make Nadine feel better but… Knowing he's at least tried lessens the miserable feeling he gets whenever he sees her lately.

He's not used to worrying about her. Nadine is independent and resilient and mercilessly sharp; she shoulders whatever crap thrown at her and then some, whether it is by foreign dignitaries or just the world itself. She can give him a round for his money, and by now, Mike believes she takes pleasure in keeping him on his toes. Their thing is fun and flirty and, even if she won't admit it, still weirdly functional. She's remarkable enough he's been starting to wonder what exactly he's going to do with her. It's been years since he's been with someone he cares about as deeply. It's been years since he's been with anyone at all.

He isn't familiar with the protocol of situations like this, but when Nadine finally breaks the silence to let him know she's planning to attend Lara Cramer's funeral, Mike offers to go with her. She doesn't thank him but doesn't protest either, so he dusts off the suit he hasn't worn in ages and slips to the back of the small group gathered in the cemetery. There aren't many participants, and Mike knows none of them. None of them know him either, which Nadine seems to take advantage of as she uncharacteristically falls out of step with him, content with walking behind him. The State Department has laid low on this one; Mike's not sure Nadine is meant to be here, and briefly, he wonders if anyone even knows. Aside from Bess, they probably don't.

The weather is grey and chilly, befitting of the service that goes off without greater fanfare. It's after a music piece, as they mention Lara Cramer by name for the second time when Nadine's fingers swiftly graze his own, causing Mike to look down to his hand in surprise. Her touch is so light he would probably have missed it had it been anyone else. But Nadine's been his main focus throughout the ceremony. She's an expert at noticing his eyes on her, so he's tried to be discreet by leaning on his other senses more; listening to the pace of her breaths and sensing her posture.

The way Nadine has kept her head down hasn't escaped his notice either. She's hiding behind a curtain of hair, only the pursing of her nude-colored lips giving away she's listening to the ceremony. Seeing her so unlike her usual brazen self makes Mike realize he has failed to appreciate how hard the case has hit her.

And maybe that's why it catches him unaware when her glassy eyes briefly flicker to his, her expression simultaneously giving nothing away and leaving him winded with shared pain. More than anything else, he wishes he could tell her it's going to be okay, aches to say all the empty platitudes he wants to believe in, wants _her_ to believe in. But he doesn't have the words and doesn't want to lie. It's not okay – nothing is at the moment. It's the way of the world.

Even so, he's there for her. Would be, at least, if she let him. So, he does the only thing he can to comfort her: he takes her hand and squeezes tight.


	7. Bread and butter

**Henry has taken it to himself to make sure Elizabeth eats, but when she starts as Secretary of State, he worries he can't do that anymore.**

**For the prompt "Just make sure you've eaten."**

* * *

One of the first things Henry McCord learns about Elizabeth Adams is that food is high on the list of things she loves. He also learns quickly that, unlike anything else she holds dear, food is something Elizabeth completely forgets about when stressed or focused – he doesn't know how that works exactly, but he finds it cute. Years later, Henry can happily and confidently rankhimself higher on that list than popcorn or cake, so he takes it to himself to ensure Elizabeth eats, from cooking his girlfriend Ramen in a college-dorm coffee pot during finals week to taking his wife out on a fancy dinner after they finish grading term papers.

Because of all that, when Elizabeth lets Jason hog the scones at breakfast, taking a couple of sips of coffee clearly only in order to please Henry before shooting out of the front door, Henry knows his wife is nervous about her first day as the newly-appointed Secretary of rinsing off her plate, Alison passes Henry with only a quick peek out of the window over his shoulder to where her mom rides off in her motorcade. Her silence is potent.

The kids aren't happy with the move, that much would be evident even without the several arguments over the issue. Henry hopes Elizabeth was too busy to think about it that morning since although he sympathizes with his kids, he also wishes they wouldn't cause their mom additional stress. A new job is plenty enough.

Henry knows his wife can hold her own, he's seen her do it twice already; first conquering the world of espionage at CIA and then the world of academics at UVA. But now she should be conquering, well, the actual world. So yeah, he's a little anxious on her behalf. He knows how her colleagues will perceive her. She's inexperienced, idealistic, young, and a woman. She'll win over anyone with a half-functioning brain, but it might take some time. In the meanwhile, she'll fit the Washington standards of a dumb blonde to a tee.

His assumptions aren't incorrect. He soon hears about Elizabeth's chief of staff whose eyes Elizabeth swears would've stuck in the back of her head by now if she hadn't perfected the art of pursing her lips instead to let her boss know when she disagreed with her, of the White House chief of staff who has all but appointed himself the Kerberos to the gates of the Oval Office, and of all the other members of Dalton's and Elizabeth's staffs who haven't bothered covering up how unworthy of late Secretary Marsh's title they find her.

Exasperated with their coarse behavior, Henry makes an effort to check in with Elizabeth more frequently than usual during her days, to make sure she's handling it as well as to remind her she has people in her corner. He feels better when her texts grow shorter as the months pass, hoping it means she grows more comfortable with the people she works with. He's proved right one Tuesday night when Elizabeth's text interrupts his setting the table for dinner.

**_Babe, swamped with work. Don't wait up, xo._**

**_Okay. Just make sure you've eaten._**

**_Already did, Blake refused to leave before I finished my salad. Btw, does that count as loyalty or insubordination?_**

Henry sends an emoji that's laughing as hard as he is, pocketing his phone when Alison and Jason barge downstairs. He doesn't answer Elizabeth's question, because he's sure she knows the answer herself. He hadn't thought he could be happy to be replaced, but the smile on his face hasn't been wider in weeks.


	8. You would've done the same

**AU in which Nadine is a little wiser and less gullible when it comes to Marsh.**

**Angst dialogue prompt: "Don't hate me for this. You would've done the same." for Nadine/Vincent**

* * *

She draws the line at forged passports.

It's not the first unusual thing she's done for Vincent, but it doesn't feel quite right anymore.

Nadine stares at the piece of paper in front of her, one that she's supposed to write her name on – not _her_ name but the alias that would be on the passport with her picture and false everything else. Vincent looks at her, his face blank, as her hand hovers over the table she was lying on not ten minutes earlier.

He's just been knuckles-deep in her and it hits her she's now knee-deep in the scheme he's weaving, a scheme she knows next to nothing about and had no intention of being involved in.

It's money for them, so that Arabelle Marsh can't touch it, Vincent has claimed. Maybe, Nadine thinks. But violating a dozen national and international laws doesn't seem like the thing the Secretary of State should ask of anyone, let alone someone he loves. She'd rather take her chances with a divorce attorney.

She looks at the name she's supposed to write and thinks about her thesis advisor who encouraged her to see Europe before pursuing law school and the boxes of noodles they lived on when Roman was five, and she puts the pen down and walks out of Vincent's office.

He doesn't call after her, his plan sensitive to daylight.

* * *

They're seemingly okay after the incident. He doesn't talk about it, she doesn't bring it up, and life continues like it has for her – politics and late nights and stolen kisses behind locked doors.

It doesn't leave Nadine's mind, though, the odd request. Nor does Vincent's smooth acceptance of her refusal. It doesn't sit right with her, has her second-guessing both her lover and her boss, trying to uncover the subtext of his words in the meetings and caresses in between them.

She tells herself she's being paranoid, but she doesn't stop.

About a month later she learns, virtually by accident, that she is the owner of a bank account in Venezuela. Or rather, Carlotta Tanniston is.

* * *

She feels like she might choke on her breath.

She gets home, pours herself a generous glass of wine, has to stop herself from drowning it all in one go. _How dare he?_

After everything she's done for him. Every day, she bends over backwards for him, literally, goes the extra mile, strives for the impossible. She gets her job done and makes sure everyone else does, too.

She started with nothing. She hasn't worked this hard for him to pour it all down the drain. He gave her a chance, helped her create a career for herself, but he does not own it. He does not own her.

The arrogance makes her seethe. He's used her name to… She doesn't even know what he's planning with the money, but this confirms her suspicions from earlier; it sure as hell isn't for _them_.

She'll be damned if she lets him use her anymore.

But something else seems off to her as well. She can understand – she hates it, but she does – how he would deem his agenda important enough to go ahead and open the bank account in her name despite her refusal, but… Vincent doesn't shy away from arguments. There has to be a reason for why he's gone behind her back instead of trying to persuade her to change her mind, see things his way. It's almost like he wanted her to be blindsided.

She thinks about it for a moment but can't come up with but one explanation. She's the failsafe. If something went wrong, she would take the fall.

She's okay with taking the blame for him professionally – it's her job. It should be different in private life, though. She knows what love is supposed to feel like; she knows with absolute certainty she would take a bullet for Roman, without hesitation, without thought, without regret.

She realizes now she wouldn't do that for Vincent. But she thought she would, yesterday. When she thought he would do the same in return.

Whatever she means to him, it's not real.

It _hurts_.

Nadine sets her glass down before she'll hurl it at the wall and carefully pours herself some more wine to chew on instead of all his false promises.

She's not going down for this. Not for him.

* * *

She lays low for a couple of days, planning for the best way to go about confronting Vincent about the mess he's tied both of them to, until next Monday he clears his schedule for the rest of the day and leaves the office at 3PM, giving her no excuse to offer to the disgruntled Australian ambassador he was supposed to meet with.

She's been avoiding him the best she can given their positions, but his total disregard of his work and clear disrespect of hers feels like personal payback which she doesn't deserve.

Part of her job or not, Nadine decides she's done covering for Vincent.

She deals with the change in the day's agenda routinely and then heads to the White House. She could go to someone else as well, but her counterpart feels like the simplest choice. She'll exit this scheme as unceremoniously as she entered it.

And so, it's in the bright daylight in the middle of a White House hallway where she steels herself and lays it all out, watches Russell Jackson turn white then red then blue like the flag Nadine has just accused the Secretary of State of betraying.

Instead of regretful, she feels relieved.

* * *

She rushes back to the State Department, desperate to get there before he's escorted out of the building. Nothing outside his office signals that anything would be out of order, but when she slips inside, she finds Vincent pacing in front of his desk.

How he's learned about her disloyalty, she doesn't know, but she's not surprised. Walls have ears in Washington. Warily waiting for his reaction, Nadine doesn't announce her presence. He knows she's there.

He continues to ignore her for a good five minutes in favor of wearing a hole into the plush carpet. He's like a caged animal, anxiety oozing from his body language. Nadine keeps her head high and her mind set, won't let her heart break from his distress.

"They're coming for me", he says, not even looking her way. "Someone… someone tipped them off."

Nadine stays silent, frowning. He doesn't seem to know it was her. She feels guilty for being pleased.

"Munsey", he mumbles suddenly, so distracted by his anger at the sudden realization that Nadine has time to rack her brain for people of that name, only barely managing to silence the yelp when she lands on the Director of the CIA.

"How could he sell me out like that?"

Nadine doesn't know what makes her correct him – probably the knowledge that he's forced her into something so grand and deceitful it involves the Director of the CIA.

"He didn't."

Vincent turns to her, his eyes wide like he already knows what she's about to say next.

"I did."

For a second, he deflates, a look of bitterness sweeping across his face before it goes entirely blank and he just stares at her, frozen in place. Like he can't believe her. For some reason, it irritates Nadine. Did he think he had her completely under his thumb? Her muscles grow tense as she meets his eyes, not flinching under the coldness of his stare.

And then he erupts, springing back to life with animation that makes her jump.

"How dare you?" he roars, the hurt clear in his voice, "Do you even know what you've done?"

"No." Her tone is deceptively calm, wavering on accusing. "I have no idea what you dragged me into! I made it clear I didn't want any part in whatever it is you're planning, and you still used my name."

Vincent scoffs. "Funny, it didn't seem like I needed to drag you into anything last week."

Nadine narrows her eyes at the implication, her face growing hot. "Don't hate me for this", she hisses through clenched teeth, "You did this to yourself."

"Don't hate _you_?" he repeats incredulously, gesturing so violently Nadine involuntarily takes a step back. She can hear footsteps from outside his office despite his raised voice, curious employees or whoever Russell Jackson has sent to escort Vincent to face the consequences. "You threw me under the bus!"

The anger flashing through her burns bright as Nadine tips her jaw upwards, using smugness to cover up the way her voice threatens to break from the truth of her words. "You would've done the same."


	9. Non-disclosure agreement

**Elizabeth has just begun working for the CIA and she has trouble with not being able to tell Henry.**

**For a writer's challenge by 2queens1prince on Tumblr.**

**The prompt: "Always so fucking tight for me." Rules: no smut, drabblish length.**

* * *

**Part 1**

"So, since we hadn't gotten anywhere with the guy himself, I went over his wives to see if one of them had any connections to the area where our mark went missing from, and it turns out wife number four's brother worked at a bank two blocks from there a few years ago."

"I… don't know", Elizabeth says, "Seems a bit farfetched."

"My middle name", Isabelle quips with a bright smile, turning around. Taking in the line of her friend's sight that is nowhere near the whiteboard, she frowns, capping the marker she was playing with. "And 'distracted' seems to be yours right now."

"Huh?"

Isabelle raises an eyebrow at Elizabeth, who gives a sheepish chuckle Isabelle joins in on as she walks over to the desk and hops on it. "What's wrong, Bess?"

Elizabeth exhales, running a hand through her hair that keeps falling on her face. "I was just thinking back to my conversation with Henry last night."

"What about it?"

"That's just it. I don't recall half of it", Elizabeth exclaims, "It was the first time I heard from him in a week and I can't even remember what we talked about."

Isabelle purses her lips, but only nods for her to go on, letting her vent.

"I just wish-", Elizabeth stops to sigh and starts again, "He's not here to share my everyday life like he should be, so at least I'd like to be able to tell him about what I've been doing."

Isabelle tilts her head as she considers the woman she's grown close with in record time. She's not used to warming up to people quickly, but since Elizabeth was the first person whose idealism Isabelle surprisingly didn't find draining, who responded to her cynicism and dry humor with endearingly bad jokes of her own, she let herself embrace the budding friendship.

"I get it. It sucks", she says empathetically. Isabelle has yet to meet Henry, but she's pretty sure that assuming she stays friends with Elizabeth, it's inevitable. From what she's observed, Henry and Elizabeth are in it for the long can't really relate to Elizabeth's situation, but she can understand how keeping things from Henry would be bothering her. "But hey, at least you don't need to lie to his face if he's overseas now."

Elizabeth groans, letting her head hit the table. That wasn't exactly the bright side she was hoping to hear. "Are the regulations always so fucking tight or is it just me?"

Isabelle shrugs. "Honestly, I don't think they're that tight."

"Really?" Elizabeth whines, "They seem that way to me."

"You're just not thinking creatively enough", Isabelle says, uncrossing and crossing her legs again, "For example, when I told my girlfriend I was suddenly moving to DC for an unforeseen amount of time for reasons I wasn't at liberty to share at the moment, she basically accused me of catfishing and broke it off. Problem solved."

Elizabeth cringes. "I'm sorry, Isabelle."

"It's okay. You know lawyers, paranoid by nature", Isabelle smirks. "Though, I suppose she had a reason in my case. I _am_ suspicious."

That gets a laugh out of Elizabeth. "I don't know what Henry thinks I'm doing", she says, shaking her head. "I'm pretty sure he would've confronted me about it if he thought something fishy was going on, but…"

"He can't tell you everything about where he is or what he's doing, either, though, right?"

"Well, right."

"There's your solution then", Isabelle announces, smiling as she pats Elizabeth's shoulder, "You're both in pretty weird situations now, but they won't last forever. Once you get your career going, you'll learn how to talk to him more freely without giving away anything you're not supposed to. In the meanwhile, just think of it as practicing small talk."

Elizabeth smiles despite herself. She knows Isabelle is being uncharacteristically optimistic for her, but the sentiment does make her feel better. As Isabelle walks back to the whiteboard, however, she calls after her. "Hey, I don't need to work on my small talk."

"Bess, the first thing you said to me was that I had picked the wrong type of pastry in the cafeteria."

Isabelle doesn't have time to get out of the way as Elizabeth picks up the marker she left on the desk and throws it at her.

* * *

**Part 2**

Later that night, Elizabeth crawls into bed wearing one of Henry's t-shirts and stares at the ceiling.

It took her a day to realize why she hates the silence between her and Henry so much. It's because she feels guilty. She promised not to push him away when things get tough. They aren't tough now, not by a long shot, even when she only has his fading scent on the clothes she strategically stole before he left and his voice from the other end of the telephone and she misses him more every day.

Rationally, she knows she's not pushing him away. And she knows he wouldn't leave even if she did. But some part of her, the one that's still getting used to the idea of having more family than Will again, fears that he will. She'll need to silence that part.

Because the truth is, he doesn't need to know. Not when they're oceans apart. She'll tell him eventually, of course she will. He'll come home, and she'll tell him everything she can. But for now-

With a smile, she hurries out of bed and calls Henry to tell him about the cinnamon-flavored popcorn she bought on her way home.

Next week, she complains about the weather and how someone stole her umbrella. The call after that, she gushes about a novel she finally got around to reading.

Henry always seems delighted to hear from her, no matter how frivolous the things she talks about are, which makes her feel a little better. And then he comes home, and she comes clean about her new job, and he only seems excited for her, which makes her feel a lot better.

Isabelle, even in her most over-simplified moment of positivity, was right – not too rare an occurrence, Elizabeth notices over the years, though it continues to surprise her. Dalton was right, too, when he said Elizabeth would be suited for the company. Slowly, she grows more comfortable with her work, begins to recognize the qualities that make her good at it, learns to embrace all aspects of it.

Except for the need-to-know policy.

Henry knows her better than anyone else. She needs that, needs him to know everything about her. And she hates it that she can't tell him about her days. She does get good at almost-telling him – Henry is not stupid either, so with a little practice, they can have conversations where they talk about things neither of them mentions. It becomes common practice for much more meaningless topics once Stevie grows old enough, though it still doesn't feel completely right to Elizabeth. Her husband is supposed to be the one she can talk about things she can't talk about with anyone else; things she has never shared with anyone, things she can only whisper in the middle of the night when his arms are between her and the darkness.

She is okay with lying to the kids, but she hates having to use even half-truths with Henry. It's the only thing that doesn't get easier with time, the only thing that has her morally flinching every time she does it.

Until she goes to Iraq.

She does what she must and comes home angry, disappointed, sad, and relieved all at the same time. She opens the familiar front door and she's never felt more lost. She doesn't know what to tell them. Even if she could tell her family she wasn't in Jordan, she has no idea how. She's not sure she understands the situation herself; it would be impossible to explain it to someone who wasn't there.

Somehow, though, Henry already _knows_; he barely takes one look at her before he opens his arms, and she flies into his embrace, buries her face in the crook of his neck, and for the first time, is really, really glad she can't talk about it.


	10. With and Without

**The "Good job, Madam Secretary" scene in the Pilot is perfect, but here's an alternative in which Elizabeth doesn't wait for Nadine to come around on her own rather than confronts her. **

* * *

She is no longer "professor McCord", Elizabeth reminds herself after a particularly trying day, slipping into her office. The office that Vincent Marsh had two months ago but is now hers. The one that belongs to the Secretary of State.

She is no longer a teacher, so she is tired of feeling like she's running a kindergarten. Or more accurately, like she _is _in kindergarten. From the whispers that follow her on the halls and precede her to meetings, the long glances she gets from people she's never seen before, and the gossip that Blake inadvertently shares with her when he tries his best not to, Elizabeth feels like she's reverted from a university professor back to a high school student.

She ignores it, at first, remembering how much harder it was to earn respect as a substitute teacher. The people at the State Department have just lost their boss, suddenly, tragically. It's natural that the transition is rough. And frankly, their criticism isn't entirely unfounded; Elizabeth is new to the world of politics. At any rate, it's a relatively minor issue which she resolves to suspend till she stops thinking of herself as a guest lecturer in her own classroom.

It's during a relatively harmless staff meeting at the end of a long week that she decides she's done. Her staff has by then had more than enough time to mourn Secretary Marsh's death and get used to the regime change. Her trial period would end now; it'd be their turn to either commit or leave.

Making the most of the high of irritation, Elizabeth decides to start right away by confronting the woman who she needs to be in good graces with the most. Nadine has never been outright disrespectful towards her, but the coolness in her eyes and attitude is reflected in what the rest of her staff considers appropriate. Elizabeth doesn't need the woman to like her – though she has to admit it hurts that Nadine seems to have something personal against her when she doesn't know why – but she needs her to remember her position and act worthy of the influence she holds over the department.

Anxious, Elizabeth tries not to rush the meeting, but she doesn't manage to hide the determination behind her eyes, which is why Nadine isn't surprised when the Secretary eventually dismisses everyone except her chief of staff.

"Nadine, do you have a second?" the woman asks nonchalantly - although Nadine knows it's more of an order to stay. She closes the door she had just been about to walk through, folds her hands into her lap and turns to face the Secretary.

"Of course, ma'am."

After a couple of seconds, having confirmed that they are alone, Elizabeth lifts her gaze from the paper she'd been paging through earlier. She takes off her glasses and stands up with a sigh.

"Look, Nadine, I didn't ask to become the Secretary of State. I never planned to engage in politics, and I know that there are people who consider me unsuitable for this job because of that."

Nadine notices the jab but keeps her face blank. The Secretary is a little too carefree with her word choices at times, but she's not careless; it was deliberate, and she won't be expecting, _allowing_, a response.

"But it is my job now. I accepted because the President asked me to. He's convinced I am the one for the job, and therefore it doesn't matter how eager some people are to see me fail. As long as I'm doing more good than harm, I'm staying."

Elizabeth leans her hands against the table and pretends not to notice how much her next statement will sound like Henry. She lowers her voice a bit, repeating the sentences he's whispered in her ear between their sheets, convincing her to leave the warmth of her husband's embrace to face a new day of fighting the people who were supposed to fight alongside her.

"I don't pursue any political goals, nor do I have any personal agenda. If I'm asked to leave tomorrow, I will be okay with that since I don't care about the approval rates. My duty is to this nation and it's also my sole focus here. I'm not doing this for myself, I'm doing this for the greater good", she pauses and looks Nadine in the eye. "And in order to do that, to do my job, I need _this _to work, Nadine", Elizabeth gestures between the two of them.

"I've been working around you and I know you're not used to that, so now is the time for you to decide whose corner you're going to stand in." She keeps the edge in her voice even though her next words are sincere. "You are a valuable asset to the State Department, and I would hate to have to let you go."

Somewhat taken aback by the Secretary's lecture, Nadine relied on professionalism to listen with a straight face and back. Stomping down the urge to get defensive since that would not only be petulant but also an admission of feeling thoroughly chastised, she meets the Secretary's eyes, searching for a response that would buy her enough time to get her thoughts in order.

"I'm afraid I don't understand", she says, hoping her false frown is convincing enough since in reality, she understands perfectly well – even worse, she agrees with the Secretary. Nadine has waited for this day ever since the woman's first dumb-luck success. Only it didn't stop there, and Nadine's not sure how long she can keep chalking the Secretary's wins up to beginners' luck. The bile that has again started rising to her throat is seeping into her voice and turning her words acidic as she asks, "Has my work been substandard, ma'am?"

"No, it's of good quality", Elizabeth shakes her head, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear as she stands to her full height. She reads the mask Nadine's put up easily, but she doesn't know the woman well enough to be able to say what she's hiding behind it, so she decides to tread with plain honesty. "But I've seen what you were capable of under my predecessor, Nadine, and good isn't enough. I need my staff to be as invested in their job as I am. If you're not passionate about this, I will find someone who is. You can think whatever you like about me, but those thoughts can't affect your input."

Elizabeth takes a deep breath, both for emphasis and to avoid crossing over to a rant.

Nadine looks like she's about to say something, but Elizabeth is not done yet. Before she can lift her hand to indicate that, however, Nadine has closed her mouth. Something stirs inside Elizabeth when she realizes the woman has backed away instead of interrupting her, and her tone is warmer as she continues.

"Our relationship has to work because I need my chief of staff with me. I need _you_ with me. So, the question is, are you."

Nadine blinks. "I'm with you, ma'am", she says, surprising even herself with the firmness of her voice. She's surprised by her answer in general; it just slipped from her mouth. There never really was a choice to be made, though. She's known what she needs to do for a while already; she has just refused to accept the truth. But now the Secretary has forced her hand.

The woman nods in response to her answer, and even though she keeps her face expressionless, Nadine thinks she seems pleased with the decision. It soothes the way her heart wrings as if she's betrayed Vincent.

The Secretary looks back down to the report. "Good night, Nadine."

Returning the wish, Nadine nods as well and turns to leave. She tries to ignore the nagging voice in the back of her mind since her ego has been bruised enough for one day, but when she reaches the door, she finds herself unable to cross the step. After sparing a sidelong gaze to the woman sitting behind the desk, Nadine swallows her pride and spins around.

"Ma'am?" she calls out but doesn't wait for an answer before continuing. "Just so you know, I think that the President was right."

This time Elizabeth allows herself a genuine smile.


End file.
